


Comedy of Errors

by ant5b



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Gyro & Scrooge friendship, Gyro's redemption arc, Latino Character, M/M, Trans Male Character, this chicken is in no shape to date anyone right now, trans gyro
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 02:07:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15305076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ant5b/pseuds/ant5b
Summary: In six months, he’d hired and fired over two-dozen interns, and didn’t plan on stopping.And then came Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera.





	1. Chapter 1

It all starts because Gyro doesn’t want an intern. 

 

He was the only other scientist Scrooge McDuck had ever hired full-time. He was given complete oversight of research and development, and a state of the art laboratory that would make even his old university professors seethe with envy. And perhaps most astonishingly, Gyro was given the trust of a man with a laundry list of enemies, all of which would stop at nothing to see him six feet underground. 

Gyro, whose own neighbor wouldn’t trust to feed her fish when she went on vacation. Whose peers complained of his sharpness, of his acerbic nature, and would refuse to work with him. They didn’t understand his drive, his determination to be  _ better _ . That he wanted to make  _ them  _ better. 

He had earned his role as head of McDuck Industries Research and Development. He’d earned it all on his own, and then spent the next five years trying to prove that he’d been the right choice. But it seemed that for every success, there was a corresponding (insulting, embarrassing) failure.  

The deepsea submarine had radar that could detect obstructions three hundred yards away, but Armstrong tried to take over the work within two days of activating. His DT-87 security system was unmatched by any other in the world, but the time tub tried to strand him in medieval Europe. 

And Gyro  _ tried _ , he tried so hard to be good enough, to continue to deserve the position he’d earned. Every one of his numerous failures goaded him to greater heights, and he worked harder than he had ever worked at anything before. And not only did he become better, he became the  _ best _ . 

When his inventions succeeded, when they did as they were intended, he was bolstered with pride. His intelligence, belittled and discounted, was proven beyond a doubt. The hours of endless toil coalescing into something that confirmed what he’d already known; that he was the only one capable of doing what he did. 

But when his inventions malfunctioned — and they did,  _ often _ — they malfunctioned to such a degree that his previous triumphs felt like a child’s pitiable attempts at greatness. 

It was a steady progression of highs and lows, but the lows began growing in number as his inventions continued to turn evil. His desperation reached new heights, and he was becoming increasingly determined to save face, to prove he was still the same man who had earned his title and would continue to do so. 

Being told to hire an intern felt like a slap to the face. 

  
  


Gyro met Scrooge for coffee every other week, a longstanding tradition ever since he’d been hired. 

They were barely three days out from the Cogs fiasco, in which the robot bodyguards he’d built for Scrooge decided to kidnap the trillionaire instead. This resulted in an six hour hostage situation in the downtown clocktower that only ended when the Cogs ran out of power. 

Gyro hadn’t slept more than a handful of hours in those three days, too busy running tests on the deactivated Cogs in pointless attempt at isolating the problem. He always found the morality circuits he instilled in all of his artificial intelligences corrupted somehow, and he had yet to find a way to reverse the effects.  He’d rather be lying face down at his desk in his quiet, peaceful, shadowed lab than sitting in the bustling cafeteria on the Bin’s the thirty-fifth floor, but Gyro wasn’t one to break an appointment. Especially not one with his boss. 

Gyro took his coffee black, with enough sugar to make a normal person’s teeth ache. He was nursing his fourth cup of the morning, drinking it with zombie-like efficiency as he waited at a table off to the side, away from the central hubbub of employees enjoying their lunch breaks. 

There were no windows in the cafeteria, or anywhere in the Money Bin, aside from the vault. It was purposely built like a fortress, a 65-story locked safe. Instead of windows, there were a number of sleek television screens mounted on the walls, some displaying news programs, others television shows, and even some playing a live feed of Duckburg Bay. 

Personally, Gyro preferred his underwater vista. But he knew that he spent so much time in his lab that the other Bin employees would think he was a myth if he didn’t venture out for these meetings over coffee. 

“Gyro,” Scrooge said by way of greeting, surprising him with his abrupt appearance. He pulled out the chair across from him. “You look terrible.”

“I know, sir,” Gyro replied. He’d received more strange looks than normal upon entering the cafeteria; he’d chalked it up to his bloodshot eyes and rumpled, three day old outfit. 

He watched as Scrooge took a sip from the steaming teacup he’d brought with him.

Gyro was one of the few people who knew that Scrooge couldn’t stand coffee. Instead, Russi, one of the cafeteria’s baristas, always had a cup of earl gray with a dash of nutmeg waiting behind the counter for the world’s richest duck. 

“You know,” Scrooge started, “the ordeal with the Cogs was a right mess, but hardly our worst. When they weren’t threatening my life, they played a mean hand of poker. Probably my best kidnapping yet.” 

Gyro lifted his glasses so he could rub at the space between his eyes. “While that might be the case, sir, they were meant to  _ protect  _ you,” he said. In that moment he felt both agitated and extraordinarily exhausted. 

“Aye, that’s true,” Scrooge said. He took a sip of his tea, considering Gyro over the rim. As Gyro distractedly drank his coffee, Scrooge tapped a staccato beat on the plastic table with his free hand. “Have you been getting any rest?” he asked. 

Gyro flapped a hand in the air, more reminiscent of a floundering fish that a gesture that inspired any confidence. “A few hours here and there, sir. I’ve taken the Cogs apart a couple times by now _ — _ I might just update the security system instead. It’s never too early to get started on the DT-87 2.0.”

Scrooge nodded thoughtfully. “And I’d appreciate the upgrade. But, Gyro, don’t you think you’re spreading yourself a little thin?”

Gyro looked up from where he was glaring down at the dregs of his coffee. “I’m sorry?” he blinked. 

“You look bloody awful, lad,” Scrooge said shortly. 

“Gee thanks, Mr. McDuck,” Gyro replied, setting his coffee cup back down on the table. 

Scrooge rolled his eyes. “What I  _ mean  _ to say is that I think you could use a little help in the lab. Lighten the load, eh?”

Gyro’s beak twisted into what could almost be called a smile, if one was being generous. “I already have a number of assistants, sir.”

“Assistants?” Scrooge scoffed, “Pernicious pencil pushers, more like. You never let them do any actual assisting, Gyro! They’re a drain on the Bin’s resources, and would be more useful at one of my off-site laboratories.”

“I can’t allow just  _ anyone  _ to work on my inventions,” Gyro argued. Under the table, he clenched his pant leg in a white-knuckled grip. 

“Then don’t  _ hire  _ ‘just anyone’,” Scrooge insisted, “go through applicants, find someone that works for you. I don’t care how long it takes.”

Gyro’s shoulders stiffened, and he straightened in his seat with visible effort. “Why the sudden insistence I hire...er…”

“An  _ intern _ , Gyro,” Scrooge said. “And I’m insisting because you cannae keep running on empty like this. I need my head of research and development in top form, and that won’t happen until you get a little help.” He  cleared his throat, gaze dropping to inspect the remains of his tea. “The board is also getting restless. This mess with the Cogs has put them in a bit of a tizzy, and I’d rather forestall any griping on their part.”

Gyro stared long and hard at the tabletop between them, outwardly impassive even as his insides roiled. He knew that Scrooge would make it in order if he refused, and he’d never liked going against his boss’ wishes. 

Scrooge, for his part, waited patiently. His attention had been seemingly arrested by an accountant eating lunch at a nearby table, joined by what appeared to be her wife and daughter. 

“Alright. Fine,” Gyro said at last. He tasted bile at the back of his throat. 

Scrooge clapped his hands together, and stood up with a smile. “Excellent! Just have one of your subordinates write up the applications. Preferably before you tell them you won’t be their boss for much longer.”

“Yes, sir,” Gyro responded stiffly. 

Scrooge chuckled. “No need to be such a crabbit, Gyro,” he said, patting him on the back. “A little help never killed anyone.”

 

So began the interminable search for the perfect intern, which Gyro was determined to drag on until the end of time. Or at least until Scrooge stopped asking him about it. 

(He’d have better luck waiting for the former.)

Over the following series of months, Gyro developed the reputation for ruthlessness. He rarely kept interns for more than a week at a time, and would fire them for arbitrary, and frankly ridiculous, reasons. 

If they couldn’t recite past the twenty-fifth digit of pi he’d fire them. If they asked to many questions he’d fire them. One wouldn’t stop chewing gum. Another he was certain was a Beagle Boy in disguise. There was a rooster that, disturbingly, reminded Gyro of his own father, critical gaze and all, and it took all of his willpower not to fire him on the spot. 

In six months, he’d hired and fired over two-dozen interns, and didn’t plan on stopping. 

And then came Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now introducing Fenton!

Gyro had learned what to expect from his revolving door of interns. 

The first batch were too young and too inexperienced from the start. Gyro was on the cusp of scientific breakthrough after other _ day, _ he didn’t have time to hold some PhD hopeful’s hand as they stumbled through basic CPU updates and understanding his filing system. 

By #5, he’d stopped letting them do anything other than fetch coffee and babysit Lil Bulb. He’d learned the hard way with #4 that allowing the interns to wander around his lab unsupervised led to canisters of metal mites being released and eating their way through half of his collection of spanners before he disabled them with the fire extinguisher and Intern #4 just stood there screaming about their arachnophobia despite the mites looking like, well,  _ mites.  _

Thus Interns #1-11 were swiftly dispatched, each hardly lasting more than a week. 

Gyro put in a request that if Scrooge insisted that he continue to try-out interns in search for The One, at least send him interns that had a backbone. And a brain, if possible. 

Scrooge’s newest secretary, a quail named Mrs. Featherby who only ever seemed amused by Gyro’s complaints, sent him a reply that basically amounted to “you get what you get and you don’t get upset.”

He’d have been more offended by the brush off if Featherby didn’t trigger his normally dormant self-preservation instinct. The woman had a stink eye fit to kill a man. 

Interns #12-25 were quick to follow, and were almost worse than their predecessors. Closer to him in age and hand-picked from various labs across the city, Gyro supposed that to a layman they seemed the perfect fit for him. But unlike Interns #1-11, they didn’t  _ just _ know him as chief inventor to the richest duck in the world. They knew him as Gyro Gearloose, inventor of the Gearloose Magnetic Backpack, creator of the mad Cogs, the man behind the Armstrong scare; he had a number of unflattering names flitting about the scientific community. 

These interns approached the entire endeavour like it was a circus freak show, asking ridiculous, demeaning questions of his work and ogling the open plan of his lab with poorly hidden jealousy. 

“This place looks like the lair of a James Pond villain,” Intern #14, an irritating mole with a nasal voice and nose perpetually in the air, somehow looking down on Gyro from three feet below him. 

“Got any killer robots stashed in here?” Intern #17, who made five other similar jokes in the span of 10 minutes and seemed to think he and Gyro were the best of friends within seconds of meeting. 

“You really shouldn’t put morality circuits in your machines. It just makes them that much harder to control,” intern #22, within seconds of him explaining how Lil Bulb came to be. 

Gyro had half a mind to reveal Project Blatherskite to them, if only to shut them up. 

But of course, not all of the interns were objectively awful. A fair number were adequate, some even optimal, and if Gyro actually gave two tail feathers about keeping an intern, they’d be perfectly acceptable. But Gyro didn’t  _ want _ an intern, he didn’t  _ need _ an intern, and was only keeping up this ridiculous charade for Scrooge’s peace of mind. 

And if he got to foist most of his paperwork on that week’s intern, well, all the better. 

Interns #26-28 were both Beagle Boy attempting to rob him, and were best left forgotten. Safe to say, once #29 rolled around, he didn’t think there was anything that would surprise him. He knew what to expect. 

Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera was...not what he was expecting. 

Gyro came into the lab like he did every morning, irritated from traffic on the highway, overpriced coffee in hand, and Lil Bulb perched on his shoulder. 

A few of the overhead lights were already on, which was odd considering Gyro was always the first person in and last one out, and he diligently followed Scrooge’s strict lights out policy. Entering his lab further, Gyro found a stranger standing over one of his desks. 

“Whoever you are, you have thirty seconds to remove yourself from my line of sight,” Gyro said, beyond caring if this was another robbery. They weren’t a Beagle Boy, at any rate. 

No, it was a gangly brown duck in a dress shirt and purple tie with tall, coiffed hair, who jumped at the sound of Gyro’s voice. 

“Ah, Dr. Gearloose!” he said, quickly standing at attention. He stuck out his hand. “I’m your new intern, Fenton Crackshell—“

“Don’t care,” Gyro replied, brushing back him to get to his desk. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Intern #29 haltingly put his hand back down.

“How’d you get down here, anyway?” Gyro asked, suddenly wary. To access the lab, the elevator required a high security keycard, of which only a scant handful existed. 

Intern #8 had turned out to be an obsessive fan, and forced Gyro to call security when they locked themselves in the bathroom and refused to leave after he’d fired them. Gyro wasn’t in the mood to deal with another one of those at nine in the morning. 

“Oh!” Intern #29 said, proceeding a torrent of words that nearly knocked Gyro off his feet. “Well, I was waiting in the lobby like I was instructed when I ran into  _ Scrooge McDuck. _ I still find it hard to wrap my head around the fact that I’ll be working in the same building as the richest duck in the world! It was a little unbelievable, though I’m sure you’re more than used to it, Dr. Gearloose. Anyway, when I told him who I was, he offered to swipe me into the lab.” 

Intern #29 blinked. “I’m sorry, should I have waited upstairs? It’s just that Mr. McDuck went out of his way—”

“I’m sure he did,” Gyro muttered. This was the last time he underestimated his boss, that was for sure.

“You didn’t touch anything did you?” Gyro demanded, sparing a glance over his shoulder. 

“No, sir!” #29 replied, rapidly lowering his hands to his sides. 

Gyro considered him for a moment; his eager, open face, the way he bounced on his heels a little, practically brimming with ebullience. 

“The janitor refuses to come down here after an incident with a housekeeping robot,” Gyro said, turning back to look over his blueprints from the night before. It seemed he’d gotten bored and started designing a giant pterodactyl robot. Odd that he had no memory of that. 

“See that broom in the corner?” he asked, and pointed to it without looking up. “Familiarize yourself with the lab set up. Anywhere that needs sweeping.”

It was a simple test he performed on most of the interns, barring disastrous #8. A basic measure of temperament, who was more likely to challenge him. And the lab did need cleaning, after all. 

Intern #29 stood still for the first time, the bouncing feet and tapping fingers faltering. He looked disappointed, which Gyro had expected. But the expression melted off of #29 like water, and his smile returned just as bright. 

“I’m on it, Dr. Gearloose,” #29 assured him, as he retrieved the dustpan and broom. 

Gyro glanced up long enough to watch him go, and wondered how long it would be until he moved on to Intern #30. 

 

It was Intern #29’s fourth day, and there had yet to be any major incidents.

Gyro had met him in the lobby in the following days, the lack of Scrooge’s continued interference putting him at ease as much as the intern’s mercifully brief “good mornings” did. He originally feared that #29 would be a chatty intern, the very worst thing a intern could be, but whenever he spoke he did so quickly and succinctly, wasting little of Gyro’s time. 

Gyro was almost willing to call it a record for an intern to go so long without annoying him, but that would imply he was keeping track and possibly even cared about this entire farce, and he couldn’t have that. 

He resolved to fire #29 the next morning, if only to prove to Scrooge that he wouldn’t be cowed by his subtle display of power on that first day. Scrooge had said he could take as long as he wanted to find an intern, and if he wanted to extend that search  _ ad infinitum _ then he would do just that. 

He should’ve known better than to think that his boss would continue to allow him to exploit this loophole. 

Scrooge had been... _ different _ recently, more focused. He’d always been sharp as a tack, but he seemed present in a way that was new to Gyro in the going on seven years he’d been in the duck’s employ. 

In the last two months, he’d assigned Gyro submarine repairs, an update on his personal DT-87, and a way to convert a magical Atlantean crystal into clean reusable energy. Scrooge McDuck was adventuring again, for reasons that surpassed Gyro’s understanding. 

Though, he couldn’t help remembering Scrooge’s nephew, someone he’d had no idea even existed, sitting beside a proud Scrooge in the conference room, and wondered if perhaps he did know the reason after all. 

In any event, whatever changed Scrooge’s mind about adventure also made it that much harder to get anything past him. 

Case in point: the day Gyro planned on firing Intern #29 was also the day Scrooge decided to pay them a surprise visit. 

 

The lab around midday was calm, which should’ve been Gyro’s first warning. 

He was hunched over a list of potential weaponry to equip Project Blatherskite with, and Intern #29 was across the room taking apart a security drone, which Gyro had deemed him competent enough to put back together on his own. 

The elevator doors opened with a ding, and Gyro had a sinking feeling in his gut even before the loud gasp resounded through the space. 

“Gearloose Labs,” a young voice breathed, almost reverently. 

Gyro turned to see Scrooge walking out of the elevator, looking altogether too casual. He was followed by a kid in a red shirt who looked bizarrely familiar, and took in the underwater laboratory with starry-eyed wonder. 

“Gyro!” Scrooge said, like he was surprised to find him in his own lab. “Meet my great-nephew—”

Still bent over his desk, Gyro’s vision filled with red. 

“Huey Duck!” the kid announced, suddenly no less than three feet away, clutching a W-Pad to his chest. “I’m a huge admirer of your work, Dr. Gearloose!”

Knowing he had Scrooge’s smug gaze settled squarely on him, Gyro stood up and managed a forced smile. “I see you’re a big enough admirer to use outdated Waddle tech.”

The kid looked down at the W-Pad in his arms like it had personally offended him. “Oh, I stole this from Waddle after Beaks fired me and I learned he was a total hack,” he said, “Uncle Scrooge said I could only get a McTablet if I earn 500 Junior Woodchuck badges or work to earn the money myself.” He rolled his eyes. 

Scrooge chuckled. “Child labor laws, what will they think of next? There’s nothing wrong with children working to earn the things they want, isn’t that right, Mr. Crackshell-Cabrera?”

Intern #29, who had been not so subtly trying to fade into the background, looked up with a deer in headlights expression. 

“Um,” he said. 

“It’s  _ illegal, _ Uncle Scrooge,” the kid said longsufferingly. 

Scrooge made a face, clearly about to make a retort, when the intern beat him to it. 

“I had my first job when I was fifteen,” #29 offered weakly. 

“See!” Scrooge said, walking over to #29’s worktable. “I knew there was a reason I liked you. What job did you have?”

Panicked, #29 glanced around the lab as he fished for an answer. His gaze landed on Gyro at one point as if asking for an out, which Gyro didn’t offer. 

“I, uh, I mowed lawns,” he said, “and, well, I usually fixed the mowers first. My mom said it would build character.”

“Your mother sounds like a smart woman,” Scrooge replied, “she’s a police detective, if I’m not wrong?”

#29 goggled at him. “Yes, I—how do you  _ know _ that?”

“You don’t get to be the richest duck in the world without amassing your fair share of enemies,” Scrooge started to explain

“That’s putting it mildly,” the kid muttered under his breath. 

Scrooge shot his nephew a dirty look before continuing. “As such, my Money Bin is particularly vulnerable. Everyone who works here undergoes intense screening, even your neighbors get background checks. Only the best of the best get in.” 

#29 looked flustered by what Scrooge was implying, which Gyro couldn’t have at  _ all,  _ not if he wanted the intern gone by tomorrow. 

“Or twenty-ninth best, in this case,” he said shortly. 

Scrooge waved his hand flippantly, as if to brush Gyro’s comment away. “Trial and error is expected for a position like this. But I’ve been impressed with you so far! I think Gyro would be a fool to hire anyone else.” 

He might not have directed the words at Gyro, or even looked his way, but Gyro knew an order when he heard one. Just like knew that if he fired #29  _ now,  _ for anything less than a perfectly sensible reason, there would be trouble. 

Scrooge was an understanding boss, but he had his limits. Gyro, with his carousel of interns, had tested those limits to their breaking point. The recent chaos of Bulb Tech had set him back even further in the board’s favor, his mistakes as glaring as the walls Lil Bulb had demolished in his frenzy. 

If he fired #29 now, he might just be saddled with some other intern, one he couldn’t fire, and he’d just have to deal with it. The intern they’d give him could be from the dregs of candidates, someone who got through the clearances because of how boring and useless they were. 

They could cut his funding because he was being uncooperative. Worst case, they finally fired him. 

No matter what the outcome, Scrooge would be disappointed in him. 

 

And all Gyro had to do to save his flagging reputation was unveil Project Blatherskite.

It would be his magnum opus, of this he had no doubt. A robotic suit than enabled its wearer to explore the empty vacuum of space, the crushing depths of the ocean, places too hazardous for any living being. There would be no obstacle so great that the suit couldn’t overcome it. His past failures would be forgotten, the man behind the Armstrong scare replaced by the man behind Project Blatherskite. 

But his prototype was nowhere near complete. So it seemed that, in the meantime, Intern #29 was here to stay. 

  
  
  
  



End file.
